


Electra Hearts

by Fovos



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Addiction, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fovos/pseuds/Fovos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History can't set you free. The future can't either. You have here and now. Make your bet, play your cards, and watch your chips fall. [ Following one set of exploits from a very troubled man]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is an album to life story, using the album Electra Hearts by Marina and the Diamonds. Written in the period of one listen to the song. Except for the first and last chapter. Those are more to fill in what I couldn't in the general album to drabble narrative.

The first and the last are just about remarkable as the general average. Only difference was he remembered them the best. The first one was when he was thirteen, she was a year older and it took all of three very awkward minutes for both of them to rejoin the adults at the party his dad was throwing. He didn’t remember her name, only that she had big brown eyes that looked as nervous as his. That was it, they never met up again, never dated, he didn’t pine. They had a three minute scene in each other’s lives, and then… It was done.

The last was a blonde, some reporter that left him looking back at his time in Afghanistan with the thought that she was going to be the last person he ever slept with. When it got dark, and it did, that was his thought. He was disgusted by her. It was a far more substantial hour and a half that left her exhausted. She stayed, he left.

That’s how it went. That’s how it always went. He could reduce his sex life to averages. Per girl it was at least forty-five minutes. Some took more, some less. On average, 45 minutes. For each added girl he could add in the right time. Then divide it by the decimal version of ever drink he had. So girls and drinks turned into a math equation. ((45*g)/.d)=A. The more he drank the long it would take, because figuring anything out like that took extra time. The equation used to be more complicated. It involved drugs, and a more substantial hit with probability of him getting and maintaining an erection.

But with every one of his actions reduced down like that it made it easier to calculate his day, and when he got an actual assistant, he could account for her anger level in the morning, with nothing more than a slight calculation modification.

He didn’t know when everything became this. He didn’t try to question it, instead he just moved forward with everything. Not stopping to think about the repercussions. He had his own language, jargon for everything. He kept the typical words for drinking, but finding a random person was called hunting, having one without binging was dipping. Having multiples was as much a binge as his benders usually were.

It made sense, he knew exactly who he was and who he wanted to be. Even if some part of him kept trying to point out that he was just like – He would ignore it. Instead he would live. He would lie to the very end of it, and when all this failed he was sure he would die

It wasn’t the most positive of thoughts, be it made it easy to live in the now.

He had everything figured out, that gave him this sense of being above everyone else. It seemed out of place, but it wasn’t. He knew why he did what he did, he knew who he was going to be, how he was going to get there. He just buried it all and covered all of those answers with things like ‘because I can’, ‘life’s too short’, ‘It’s just for fun.’

It was all figured out.


	2. Bubblegum Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1eQLw0Nwto)

He was attractive, he knew that from a young age. Every single girl that fell at his feet or into his bed could attest that he was. It wasn’t just the looks but the resources. He had a charming smile, a way with words, and no promises. They all fell for it, and wrapped themselves up in his sheets. He tangled their limbs with his, and for a brief moment there was something. Not love but something.

He kept their fragile little hearts, he collected them and kept them with all the forgotten bras and underwear. He tucked them away in a drawer that never looked in, and just added to. He didn’t keep connected. They were a means to an end. What that end was he didn’t quite know. Perhaps it was brief compassion, the rush from orgasm, or the feeling of another person against him. It could be one, none, or all of those reasons.

Though for a night he would kiss them, he would miss their candy glosses when they rubbed off against his lips. He treated each one with respect. It was important to do that if he wanted to keep doing it. Then when they were done he didn’t miss them. He wanted them gone, he thought they were just as disgusting as him.

So he didn’t care if they stole him for an hour or fifteen minutes. He let them inside, for a second, that was it. He introduced them to a hard and fast fact, no one gives a shit about you when you don’t give a shit about you. He opened that drawer, he tucked hearts inside, and when it got full he threw them away.


	3. Primadonna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1JVYmxFmhM)

He knew there was nothing to brag about. Other than without all the spy bullshit, he was James Bond. He was every single male power fantasy wrapped up in one fashionable set of skin. He never had anyone who didn’t just fold to him. That’s why he was so keen to keep his newest assistant. She told him how it was, not how he should hear it, not sugar coated. Just honesty.

It hurt in a way he could get addicted to.

He had everything. _You’re the most miserable man I’ve ever met._ He never wanted or truly struggled in his life. _Why do you keep doing this to yourself?_ He had whoever he wanted. _Are you lonely, Tony?_ There was no reason for her to question him.

He buried himself between the thighs of someone on Thursday, and all those doubts could fade away. All those empty little places in him filled for a minute. For a second he could forget everything, the ups and the downs. It was strange after the brief moment of euphoria, he faded back and he left. He worked, he buried, he was alright.

This was the life. He couldn’t help that some part of him always asked after the worst and best. Everyone gave him what he asked for (even if he didn’t deserve it) and someone could get lost in that intoxication. Get lost in that mist of life and lies, this rise and fall.

He was difficult, he was horrible to her and he knew that. But at the very least she could always count on him to ruin a perfectly normal evening. Some scandal, some issue, something to sign, and some faked apology.

But she stuck with him through all of that. She must have seen that his perfect little mask of the lives he lived was just that. She listened to him, she didn’t fight him, she didn’t push him away. She just accepted him. It was almost enough that he could drop the pretense.

Except, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t lose that face. There was nothing underneath it.


	4. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PQUzhFynxk)

She touched him, while other’s just felt the air. She felt the skin, the weight, the everything. He could feel every part of him unwinding around her. All his safeguards, all his defenses were completely useless. She laughed at him telling her off, she shook her head at his jokes, she rebutted when he tried to scare her away. Instead she stood firm in front of him and told him.

_What have you been drinking? How many glasses? How hungover are you? Is that blood? What did you do this time? How much is bail? Which police station? Who is upstairs? Is she a pro or random? Do I need to call a cab? Any clothes for her? Are you okay?_

He hated that last question, because it was always answered with something that felt like a lie. He was fine, he was always fine. Just fine, a chip off the old block. People forgot how human his father had been.

One time they both had a scandal on the same day, twenty years apart. Public drunkenness, and a semi-public sex session that tabloids gossiped over for a long time. The only difference is you didn’t speak ill of the dead. Things like that made him feel closer to his father, another drink, and another warm body to press against.

Still her fingers would find their way to his hair, she’d stroke through all the stress. Never being sexual, just touching him. For no other reason than she wanted to. He liked these nights, these dark nights. All the ache in him would fade and compulsions faded. He didn’t feel the need to shove his fingers under her shirt, or kiss along her neck.

Though the more he didn’t feel obligated to, the more he wanted to.


	5. Homewrecker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eazvTe-GVMo)

He didn’t sleep with married women or those he knew were attached. Still, he made mistakes, and he’d had a few times some angry man attempt to show up and take it out on him. He ignored them. The tabloids loved it, they followed his exploits with a precision that made him wonder if discretion was dead.

They called him names, painted him out as a villain, and deviant. Those words stuck with him. He didn’t usually let them. But he couldn’t shake the truth, he broke and ruined a million hearts for fun. Then, what did he do? Run. He was always running, from one thing to another. Which he’d leave behind too.

He was honest, he never promised love.

He didn’t belong to anyone, and if he would have been into the “hippy-shit” of soul searching he would have found that he wasn’t running. He was looking for something. But he didn’t. Instead, he kept things in categories: Friends, flings, work, family. The categories made it easy to sleep at night.

Then again anyone with eyes looking into his life could see his life was a mess. No matter how good he looked in those pictures. He looked put together, organized, and clean. If you followed the trail you’d see the story of a man who was falling apart with nothing to hold him up or back. No one looked that hard (but her) and he didn’t even look past the surface. For being so honest he was the picture of deception.

Perhaps everyone deserved happily never after. After all, no one is meant to last. Or they wouldn’t feel the need to crawl into his bed. They called him a homewrecker, but how was he supposed to know? It was all in good fun.


	6. Starring Role

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfwjtBFBce0)

She was made of stone, that was all he could guess. Tough as nails meant nothing until he met her. She was something so new to him. He wanted after it the more he was around it. So, he fell into arms that matched. A new pair to replace hers. He knew he was filling their void as much as his.

Sometimes he could pretend, he could curl up with her and listen to her sleep. He could pretend that he was more than another face in the movie of her life. He played a starring role for forty-five minutes in other lives. He would do nothing but play a supporting role in her life. That was fine, she was categorized, a neat category to clean up the mess he was around her.

He wanted to hold her, listen to her heart, and talk to her.

But he was impossible to hug, harder to talk to, and she’d never fall for the pathetic mess he was. He didn’t have a heart anymore, he buried that and destroyed it years ago. He couldn’t he promised himself to keep distance. But promises meant nothing when he craved like this. Instead of giving in, he replaced something so real for something so fake.

He couldn’t fall, he couldn’t be loved. He knew that, she was always steel in front of him, and he was a stone. That just made them erect a dam between them. They fed each other a small trickle of compassion that snuck out.

Sometimes he curled up anyway and touched her like he longed to. She touched him back. He wanted to have them both get drunk enough to pretend that this was okay. It wasn’t the everything he wanted. But, slowly, he was getting fed up with the fantasies. The compulsion to make it more sometimes reared up, but he couldn’t lose this. He could lose everyone but not this.

He almost wished he would rather work alone. But he couldn’t, not anymore. He had tasted this, he had felt it. He couldn’t give it up now. He couldn’t let her free though she didn’t need this or him, and he couldn’t let himself give her freedom. He was stubborn in the worst way. He could pretend to rewrite all he wanted. It was never meant, but he was good at dreaming.


	7. The State of Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilxc3mGKC-w)

He could forget all his moments, it was a honed skill. Forgetting what hurt, forgetting the things that made life hard. So he didn’t consciously think about his aches, pains, and habits. He knew somewhere back in his head, he couldn’t forget. But, he could pretend.

His life was a play, so he pretended that he was everything. That he was untouchable. Above everyone. He did it so well he could convince himself that it was the truth. He didn’t lie to anyone quite like he lied to himself.

This life, his play, went like this: He was born to the american dream family. He had everything he could want; Top notch education, money, any gadget or gizmo, any little desire his heart could beat at. His parents died, yes, it was sad. But he had gotten to say goodbye. They made amends, they had left with family in mind. All of them loved each other at the end. He took over his father’s dreams, and he could have it all. The world his oyster.

He sold his soul for this. He had it all, he had it all, he had it all.

It was just as fake as the tits bouncing in front of his eyes. The nipple wasn’t centered right, and the placement of the implants made it obvious how fake all it was. His life like these tits, he didn’t look away from, he didn’t point out the terrible job the plastic surgeon did. He pretended that they were real, that they felt real, that no one would notice.

Later, he would wake up from this play and move to an intermission. At least he had to hope so. His dreams gave him hope, they were blank pauses in the overstimulation of his life. They were peaceful, calm, and restful. He learned that he would wake up and all would be better.

He kissed this woman. For a moment he forgot again and he was free, that was the most important part. Being free from the make-believe land. Which side of the sleep/wake coin that was he didn’t know. For a moment his life and dreams were on the same page. Even if one was still a play.


	8. Power and Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uABM_conmt4)

He had tried nearly everything. He defined his hard limits, things he wouldn’t do. He didn’t do any of them once. But beyond that: He’d been smacked and spanked at request. He eaten off of a woman who liked being made into furniture. Fucked a girl who wanted to act like a doll. Had one who would orgasm if you played with her navel. Had another who wouldn’t do anything more until he smacked her. He was open to it all.

All but his hard limits, but few if only one or two in his long list mentioned something close to the things he said no to. Instead girls asked him to do things. He gave a little to the girls. Someone wanted smacked, fine. As long as he got a lot more in return. It was like business.

He had the supply and they were in demand. So he could charge a high price. He’s accept getting smacked across the face a few times, but she better be willing to give him a ten minute blowjob. You want to be a table, fine, but you better accept being taken face down.

They didn’t argue, and usually accepted his terms. There wasn’t much time for chit-chat, he just did and when he came up for air he could regret. When those built up beyond his ability to deal with he’d call a girl.

A different one each time(his request), he’d tell them he just wanted to worship them. And he would. He would spend an hour on just them, he couldn’t count the number of prostitutes who told him that he was the first man in a long time to give them a legitimate orgasm (even if they were lies, they were a point of pride).

He always asked them for what he wanted. They charged extra, that was fine. He asked them to stay. He asked to hold them. He paid them to stay and paid to hold them. He paid them for something he would call peace. But before he had all that peace, he needed the supply and demand war.


	9. Sex Yeah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzPuXDt12ug)

He knew what to do since he was nine. He watched his dad. He had a habit of grabbing what was close (the maid, the nanny, his mom’s friends). His father took them where ever he could manage. Tony learned, he’d analyze the repercussions of that one day. He knew how to wrap his fingers how to curve his body. No one probably expected any different.

It was family tradition.

So when girls curled their toes as he did his work, he knew they learned just like he did. Something about the world said that this was how it was supposed to be. Both of them falling between lines of unspoken truth. This was how they were all supposed to interact. They were supposed to kiss, tear clothes, press warmth against warmth, writhe, and come.

He spent his life questioning everything. Every system could be broken down and made better. Eventually it would reach it’s point where everything was working so efficiently that no more changes needed to be made. He asked the question, how and why.

Not with this. He couldn’t reasonably question this. He learned from all that history, painted in technicolor pictures. This was who he was supposed to be. This was his birthright. His past, present, and future. He had broken this system down as far as he could.

He couldn’t question what he was sold as a child. If he did he might have to be honest about how messed up this system was. A billion people touching without touching, kissing without loving, doing without thinking.

That didn’t stop him feeling he was questioning something. Like deep inside of him, he had been fighting something this whole time. Each notch, or mark chiseled into his bones was a reminder that this was it. This was how things should be according to what everyone said.

He’d stop that train of thought. He’d derail it and set fire to each of the cars. He might have mistakes. This might be wrong but he put bread on someone’s table. It was fine.


	10. Teen Idle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NjX3omhMR0g)

He half-wished he would have grown up protected. He wished he could go back to being a teenager. He could have done something normal, like joined the football team, dated a cheerleader, gone out to the outskirts and partied, graduated at eighteen, struggled with college, didn’t know what he was going to be. Struggling with a life not laid out for him. Been something he had only seen in movies.

He had been just as wild then as now. He wanted to be a virgin again, and he wanted to walk those treacherous sands and dipping in for the first time now. He wanted to experience the world again. He wanted to kiss lips that told him that they loved him, he wanted to love back. He wanted to feel heartbreak. He wanted to fall in love again. He wanted to go back to high school after he succeeded and surprise everyone.

Instead he fucked who ever offered, then as much as now. He drank until his eyesight faded and he couldn’t remember what he did the day before. He took the needle from the kit in his backpack and used water from the boy’s bathroom on the second floor to curl up and twitch. He wanted to fight to be king of the school, not fight for his life every day. He did things that he was sure should have left him dead.

If he had died then, maybe he’d feel more alive right now.

The thought was stupid, and he could and had to forget it. But he wished for a lot of impossible things. He left those back around the forgettable other parts of his life. He couldn’t have those doubts, those weren’t put together, in control, or anything he was telling people he was. He wished sometimes he wasn’t such a narcissist.

He had a great childhood (such pretty lies) – he had wanted to die (the ugly truth). He needed to find the bottle or the needle, and he could count out the debts between the two. He felt this way after binging on bodies. He felt this self-reflective internal loathing after he finished. Alcohol numbed this part, but this time, he wasn’t ready.

He hated realizing he was going to die alone, that nothing made sense. He was supposed to have all these beautiful moments, not these years of being a fool. He was going to drink until he ached. Then he wouldn’t have to find out he didn’t come out of this alive.


	11. Valley of The Dolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SD-kTU6W84)

He didn’t tend to slip when it came to drugs. They weren’t as much of fun as this. But, he thought about doing them a lot. He thought about how easy it would be to go a different route. To pick up a few legal pills illegally. Go home take a drink, pop a few, fade, praise himself for getting so far, go out with a bang, and sleep.

Just sleep, a restful kind, not a dead kind. Dream things that were peaceful and restful. Each fix didn’t give the same rush. He knew this game. He’d played it for years. Every drink, dip, or hit left him wanting more and more until the mere dosage would kill him. Now, he was left thinking, that he wasn’t sure if a threesome (blonde, brunette, and him) would even be enough.

He was getting tired of how crowded his head was getting. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. When he got here and how this would work. Who he was supposed to be for them. He was laying there wondering about lying there. With this gap between his neck and legs. He listened to the two girls talk and do all the stupid actions that they thought would be arousing.

He was more disgusted then aroused, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop his tongue, or hands. He wanted them to pick the personality they wanted. It wasn’t going to be hard to assume the skin and position. He could just collapse when it was done, fall back into void, and reset. He needed a vacation.

Pills, cocaine, heroin, honestly any of them would have been one. A stupid vacation that left him drooling on his shoulder unable to do much more. He’d be back to zero, divided out. He wasn’t sure if he liked that thought much. He fought to get this conscious of his life, his ration brain saved him from falling back to that addiction. Though all that oblivion and emptiness wasn’t far from the truth of now.


	12. Hypocrates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgBTrjGshTA)

She wakes him with Gatorade and aspirin every morning. His body is sore and he is alone in a bed meant for at least two. Sometimes she is there talking to him about work, and his events of the day. Replacing his mind with a series of tasks. Other times he is alone, and has time to reflect and wonder. Is this how his dad woke up?

Then he’d be pissed off all day, drinking to drown it (irony always lost). It was the sore spot, the only bitter and sad part of him, that throbbed with mention or thought. The only other human breathing that knew how to hit it, didn’t do it often. They both knew how that piece of him could break him down to a boy who just wanted pride and attention. The fact he’d been so needy before pissed him off more.

He shrugged off questions, comments, and concerns. He just fought for it to let go of him. Skeleton hands and all. It never did. He drank, he dipped, and still felt some lesson in everything he did from his father. Even if bacteria and maggots were claiming what would be talking to him otherwise.

He wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose something that shaped him so much. If he lost this bitter and dark hole in him, he wasn’t sure if he knew how to live. Even if he was so sick and tired of all preaching. That he still strived for something that he could never get. He wondered if he made his daddy proud by turning into him.

Probably not, because his father always so good at playing martyr. Son actions would just highlight all the fathers wrong. And his father could do no wrong.


	13. How To Be A Heartbreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5urehEsJ0uI)

He lived by rules. Even when it didn’t seem like it. They were his own rules, that sometimes he broke. Rarely did he betray himself like that.

For drinking, he had to completely drink the glass before he could have another. Two, he never could cut out the middleman, use a glass not a bottle. Three, only two different types of liquor a day, preferably stick to one. Four, big gulps do not count as glasses. Five, if you can’t stand, you can’t crawl to a drink. Six, if he tossed his keys in the air and couldn’t catch them he couldn’t drive. Seven, If the bottle ends so does the day. Eight, three drinks, one mineral water or sports drink. Nine, if someone buys you a drink, order it yourself, get it yourself. Ten, Always say you’re two drinks lower than you are, unless it’s above ten then always say six. Eleven, if you begin over sharing leave, it’s embarrassing in the morning. Twelve, only one drink before you get ready for the day.

For people they can stay, you can’t stay with them. Two, they had to be forgettable, no relationships, no double dipping, no reruns. Three, no one needs to know. If someone asks, you have enough. Four, define your limits and stick too them no matter how hot they are. Five, bargain hard, they usually fold first. Six, don’t masturbate. Seven, always check IDs or only invite those of age. Make sure their pupils dialate at the same pace. Eight, stay safe, seriously herpes is gross. Nine, it can’t be every night. Ten, if times get hard find a madame you can trust. Eleven, try to keep it in the bedroom, hotel, or house. Twelve, be honest, you’re never going to love them, you won’t remember them, you don’t even care, and nothing they can do will make you.

_(Did it make him feel better that he was doing this? Did it bring him comfort to know that he was wearing a new face? Did he even care he didn’t really know anymore? Did it make him relax knowing that he faked it to keep his heart away? Did he think he could lose such a vital part of being human? Did it make him happy? Did it please him he was out of control? Did he so easily forget all his regrets? That this same was real? Was he happy? Could he even lie to himself enough to believe he was happy?)_

He could be their little piece of danger, their little regret, some nagging feeling later. That was fine as long as they opened their legs. they could speak the same language if only for a night.


	14. Radioactive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH7Syai7CRU)

Her hands were addictive. He knew something about addictions. It had to be because she was off limits yet he kept curling up with her, it left him hurting in the morning. He looked for opportunities for it to happen. He chased it as much as his next high, and felt guilty after. He felt like he was using her.

Still, he would curl up with her and touch her skin and hair. Speak to her in private words that he hoped she forgot in the morning. She was untouchable, something of legend or myth. You can share anything with deities, they didn’t judge.

She was somehow calling the shots. Telling him what he was going to do. Taking charge where he floundered. She didn’t let him put off, or pull away when he wanted. She didn’t let him vanish in front of her. She called him out, she told him how it would be. She didn’t hesitate.

He both cared for that and resented it. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was the boss and she was the assistant. He told her off, but somehow she stuck around. That almost made him suspicious in the morning. He wanted to know why, so he churned the questions over in his mind, and spilled words over like a tidal wave. She never gave him a sufficient answer.

Still she accepted him being with her, in these gross over sharing moments like this. She didn’t mention them in the morning. And she always made sure to assert that indeed she was still in control of her (and him). She told him off and called out his masks. He didn’t understand.

Yet, he came back, and regretted it in the morning, being so weak in front of her. He used her and that made him feel guilty. He craved her and that made him feel ashamed of his want. He wanted it, and he was sure that this was illegal. But still, but because, but, but, but… He said words that didn’t add up to what he wanted to say. He was pretty sure that word started with an H and ended with a P. Or maybe it was a word that began with an L, and three letters later made him walk to the bar and forget all the uncertain fear he felt.


	15. Fear and Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXEenWnu4ag)

Sometimes he made himself resolutions. He’d go a week without drinking. He ended up caving after a few hours. He’d forget his losses. He’d drink, he’d fuck, and come back to where he knew comfort. He didn’t know how one month went to three years. She was still throwing things in his face. He is sitting waiting, waiting for something. It just needed to show up. Because all this waiting was ruining him.

He didn’t like this real mirror thrown up in front of his eyes. It showed that the mask he wore was cracking up. He wondered if this is what he looked like to her. If it was is that why she said the things she did? (Whispers from dark parts of his head said, ‘You don’t have to be afraid.’ In her voice.)

He had lived a bitter empty life. This plane ride told him that. Why had he wasted so much time? Why did he feel like he was waiting for something? He always questioned everything but himself. He really needed to start. Even if it hurt.

He wondered. He thought of her face. Would she be there when he got to come home? Would he be able to look her in the eyes? Would he be able to look anywhere else? He thought of her smile and her laugh. She was the only female in his head where every detail was preserved.

He knew the last body he laid with was blonde and the last drink he had was scotch. However, he also knew the first thing he wanted was to see her. Match all the lines, shapes, and freckles in his mind. Prove to himself that something was worth surviving all that. That she didn’t change, and she could be home.

Then he wanted to be done, done with all his addictions. He couldn’t kick them all. He couldn’t do it all at once. He could feel the pressure from them already and they hadn’t even landed on American soil. He would drop the girls for her, he’d drop the drink if that void filled up inside of him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, strong and friendly. The plane was landing, he had to compose himself because he was about to cry. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that at all, because it wasn’t in him to lose his mask in a strange place. Even among the company of his friend. He wanted darkness and heartbeats, he wanted all the questions. He needed to feel like he was floating, not that pressure, the implosion of his play of a life.

She was there, the sun was too bright, she was smiling. She had been crying. They were there, and no where else. He tried to be himself, and it felt stiff and awkward. He would have hugged her if there weren’t so many people around. He didn’t want to live like his body had before. He wanted to live like this, looking at her smile, and feeling weightless. To touch her and leave it at that. It was a long road he knew, but maybe she’d stay by him through this.

His vacation was over, it was time to get busy living. It was time.


	16. Living Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0CS5-dOkWk)

After a plane lands, promises are harder to keep. What does he crave more: Her body or her heart? He can’t have both. You don’t get both. You get friendship or you get heat. He can’t win the debate in his mind, he makes charts and formulas and all of them come up empty and without answers.

He doesn’t drop it all right away. He tries to pick one side of his addictions and give it up. It doesn’t take long before he’s drunk again. Stumbling around his house like it’s a foreign nation and he’s attempting to destroy it. Numbing new pain, that’s far more aggressive.

He just watched people then. His head buzzing, still drunk. Not filling another gap in him, even though it’s throbbing with every need. He wanted to, but how could he with the tears that left his heart so close to the surface? He couldn’t hide it anymore, the path to was lit up. He could feel the cracks in his heart.

Instead of touching, he could just curl up in the dark, feeling dead.

Alive only when he could be in the light, acting as if he died back there in a dusty cave. He hadn’t lived yet. He was given this life to live, but he was still falling apart. Instead he looked down on all the people going on about their life. It was still easier to keep himself away from all of them. He might slip if he thought too hard about it. Then he’d be back to the permanent square one.


	17. Lonely Hearts Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2eVcfeu2EDo)

Sometime between end credits and sunrise, he slipped. He couldn’t help but regret she wasn’t another warm body. Every motion framed perfectly in his mind, filling him up beyond what he could of imagined. The TV was still on, and they stared at each other. A regret both of them shared, he was sure for different reasons. They forgot about all of it in the morning. So he found a couple bottles. Binge drunk in someone’s hotel room attempting exorcism.

When he found himself wanting, he found himself a bed far removed from her. She didn’t need to know. He was a better man now. He was better. He found others who pined after others and they both closed their eyes and pretended that they were with someone else. He didn’t flinch when the girls called him by another name. He called them by another too.

It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t rare. His finger traced patterns on skin and his addictions caught up with him. She wouldn’t want to be with somebody like him. Instead he found anonymous sheets and whispered confessions of love that were meant for other ears. He listened to their confessions and they listened to his. They touched as if it was a beginning of something more, but they never called.

It was an easy club to join. You walked into a bar and you looked for the other members. They didn’t have a card or a handshake. But they had similar looks. Forlorn and pining, alone and swirling their drinks by themselves. They didn’t flirt, they struck up terms. They found a hotel, nothing that made it personal.

They kissed, they touched, they met in their loneliness, and they took turns showering. They put themselves back together and left as soon as they were done. It wasn’t uncommon to know their lost-loves name better then theirs. Those were the terms, and with that anyone could join.

He didn’t mention it anyone. He fought to keep all those meetings secret. It wouldn’t be fair to the club if he outed them.

When he couldn’t hold back anymore, his fingers found her skin. And they slipped together. He wanted to believe emotions weren’t fickle and he wouldn’t be hurting her (or hurt by her) by doing this. He knew she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He didn’t know what he was doing to her. He had suspicions but wouldn’t make them known. Instead, he said his apologies, made her promises of never again, he was sure he had no intention of keeping.

Then, joined back to his underworld of pieced together hearts. It was easy to fit in here, no masks, no pretense, no one really wanted you. You were just filling the shoes of another.


	18. Buy The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zsPvK9fDq4)

In the morning, before the sun is up or the stars are out. He always looks in the mirror, he asks himself questions. He demanded answers from the face in the mirror. Why?

He lived a lonely life, for what? For this? This misery, this pain, this wanting for nothing? Did he live for this? This is what some man died for, he thought this was worthy of saving. He could try to light up this place with something, and he’d still be there in the dark.

She was a light, but it wouldn’t help. He wished it would have, but the thing was. He was sitting in the darkness of himself. He was refusing any other alternative because he didn’t know how to come out to that shining honesty. The kind that made his eyes hurt and his body warm, and forced him to see the truth.

That meant being real, being honest, and he couldn’t stop lying to himself. Because he made a mask so well he forgot himself under all of this. He was too old for an identity crisis and too young for a midlife crisis.

He needed to break this, but he didn’t know how. He was lost somewhere with nothing to bring him back to somewhere he could call home. He couldn’t fight a war with himself, he treated himself like a fragile doll. Because he knew better than anyone he was a hairsbreadth from collapsing. Instead of fighting he just sat and accepted this.

He did what he always did, he grabbed a bottle and a glass, he moved to his living room. And looked at his reflection in the window. It’s just who he was. This was it. Blue light pointing to his heart or not. He was nothing more than this. This cracked mask wearing, full of holes, fake, impulsive addict. He couldn’t name anything in his life after her anymore.

Because he didn’t own her, he never would. He couldn’t do that to her. Instead all he had was this. A bottle of whiskey and a glass. An urge to call a girl up and bring her over and introduce her to his sheets. The lingering itch for something in his veins. He wasn’t going to get any better. He could have lived, loved, or something. Instead, he’d just keep his secrets.

New life, new outlook, new whatever. It didn’t matter he came into both worlds alone, and he’d both leave alone. He poured himself a drink and picked up his phone. He struggled for all of a second before he dialed a number. She was a pro, she would make him feel better, even in seconds or minutes. He wasn’t strong enough to keep from shutting out the light. It’s just who he was.


	19. Ends

“What would you like?” She purred into the phone. Her voice was calming, it immediately stopped his mind from churning and processing. Instead he was now, and listening to each breath, each syllable thankful for everything about this. Her voice was like heaven. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a heavenly choir of angels came down and echoed with her words. He was holding a glass, but hadn’t drank it yet. He needed a few moments.

“Your name.” A split second decision, he hoped he wouldn’t regret.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me what you want, sugar.”

“I’m sure you get this a lot but I just want to talk. I’m more than happy to pay a dollar and nineteen cents a minute for it. I want your name to start with or something to call you.”

“Dawn.”

“Hi Dawn, I’m Anthony.”

“Hi.” She sounded so confused, though he was sure plenty of men called up for shit like this. But her confidence came back like whiplash. “What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ll get to that, I can’t just jump right in.” He paused, she acknowledged. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Really?” Pause. “It’s blue.”

“Good color. You in your pajamas? I know I would be if I was you.”

“I am, I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I do. I don’t have any strange fantasy to tell you. If I wanted a catharsis for them I could find a girl somewhere. I’m not attached, not afraid to ask after what I want. I just don’t know how to do this, the needing someone to talk to.”

“You don’t want to talk face to face with someone?”

“Not really.”

“You didn’t just kill somebody did you?”

“Nope, not today.” Her laugh was so smooth and easy. “This you’re only job?”

“Yes and no. I manage my social networks as well. And that’s a full time job.”

“I know that feeling.” He paused. “I have to manage myself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and that’s like managing five different people. I, even, have an assistant for it. I’m a pretty fucked up guy.”

“Why do you say that?” He sighed, and like a torrential down pour the words just came to him. Now. Or. Never.

“I’m not really sure who I am anymore. I used to be damn sure of who I was, and what I was. But in hindsight I kind of realized I’ve been lying so well to everyone else, that I managed to fool myself. And now… I really like someone, and I can’t do anything about it. Because I value her friendship over what we could have.”

“Ah, the thing you wanted to talk about. Why can’t you have both?” Calm, patient, and sure. She was a pro.

“It’s complicated, we’ve known each other for years. I’m a raging alcoholic, I used to be addicted to drugs, I’m a sex addict. I’ve been terrible to her. Not like I ignored her, but one time I called her a worthless whore. And that’s one of many memories, not to mention all the times I don’t remember. I tried this whole new you bullshit, and I found myself slipping back into terrible habits. I mean I called a phone sex hotline with whiskey in hand. All that’s missing is the cocaine, and I’d have won the shitfest tic-tac-toe.”

“But you recognize there is a problem right?”

“With me? Yes.”

“That’s the first step isn’t it? So you recognize that you have a problem. You’re addicted to things. Recent science has shown that most people are. It might not have the same social stigma, but it’s there. You see there are some problems with you, and she’s obviously stuck it out with you so—”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to lose her. I know better than anyone it’s better to just keep people you actually care about at arms length.”

“Why?” That was an excellent question. Why.

“Because… That’s how you do it.” It was a shitty answer but the only one he had. There was silence for a moment.

“Anthony, tell me more about you.”

“You’re not just milking me for cash right?”

“No, I’d give you my personal cell phone but you’d have to call in a few hours, and it sounds like you’re in a really dark place right now.”

“I don’t mind, I’m not short on cash.”

“So, tell me about yourself.”

“I was born, I grew up rich, I got addicted to drugs and drinking when I was young. I started sex when I was thriteen and never looked back. I quit drugs in college, I’m still drinking, I’m still fucking, I’m still rich. I recently ended up in a very bad place and now I can’t sleep. I’m just a happy little bundle of fucked up.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a mechanic, an engineer, a something. It’s hard to explain without giving myself away.”

“Okay, I understand. Slightly anonymous.” She paused for a moment. “How have you been lately?”

“I’ve been really fucked up since I got back. I’m having nightmares, daylight… I have PTSD. Fuck, I sound like a miserable fuck to be around.”

“You sound like your broken and troubled, and that’s okay. Most people are messed up. It’s not how messed up we are, or how we are. What matters is what we do about it.”

“No one could want this, or love this.”

“Everyone is entitled to love, Anthony.”

“Really?”

“You sound like that’s an honest question.”

“It is… No one… My parents, they didn’t love me. My mom got me addicted to drugs because I was annoying. My dad had a party the day after he sent me away to boarding school. My uncle,” He was about to cry again, a well too full and exploding. “Or the one person who I thought cared,” He choked on his next words. “Paid some men to abduct me and try to kill me.” He tried not to let their be silence. But it was getting hard to breathe. “I have one friend who is generally better off without me. And I have her, and she’s… She’s all I have really.”

There was silence. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry. That’s horrible. You’re in a safe place and you can tell me whatever. I won’t judge or tell anyone else. Discretion is my job, silence and fake names… Anthony, I’m going to be completely honest with you.”

“Good, I’m not paying you to lie. I can get that for free.” She laughed. It made it easier to not cry when he was joking. It bottled it back up inside him.

“I’m sure you’re very lovable, just troubled. And you know something else. I know this is very true about men. It’s okay to be weak. I’ve had my fair share of moments with men. To be honest I wish I could make you break down in tears because I think you need it.” She didn’t know how close she was to doing it already. “It’s okay to be weak, you don’t have to always be on and alpha dog. You can be venerable. You’re not a machine or a brick wall.”

“I wish I were a robot.” He sighed. “Life’s easier with oil running through your veins.”

“No, shut up. You don’t want that. You want to live without all this and with her right?”

“Yes, but–”

“No buts. I want you to do something for me. Raise your right hand.” He set the glass down, and reluctantly lifted his hand. “Put your index and middle finger to your neck and feel your pulse.” He even more reluctantly did that as well. “That means you’re alive, and it’s dark now, I get it. But you want this to stay there.”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“All addicts are, it’s just a slower end. You have regret, loathing, shame, and guilt bundled up under all that self medicating.” She was organizing her thoughts. “In my opinion about your addictions, you crave love so you seek it out in sex and when you come down from the endorphin crash you remember you’re alone. You turn to drinking to numb the pain. It’s a vicious circle, Anthony.” He was silent. Just feeling his pulse under his fingers. Not sluggish, not fast, just the lub-dub of him being alive. “Don’t be so pathetic and think that this is the end. Repeat after me: It’s okay…”

“…”

“Anthony?”

“It’s okay.” He felt like an idiot.

“It’s okay to have weakness.”

“It-It’s okay to have weakness.”

“You stuttered.”

“It’s not though.”

“Were your parents abusive? That was a dumb question it’s obvious they were. I bet they told you you can’t cry, you can’t feel. Men don’t do that. I fucking hate people. They are the reason others end up all fucked up.” She sighed. “Anthony, what scares you?”

“I-” He thought he had an answer, but instead he just swallowed. “I honestly don’t know. I think being alone, but that isn’t right. Maybe it’s being rejected… again. I mean I tried for years to make my dad–” He shut himself up.

“He doesn’t sound like he could have loved anything but his own shit.” She growled the thought made words. “If it’s rejection you fear then tread with caution see if she might be interested. Tell her, be honest about your problems if she doesn’t already know, tell her you need to go slow.”

“Even then, if she says no, and I lose her as a friend? I can’t. I don’t know if I’d survive without her.” He sighed frustrated. “I sound dependent–”

“No, you don’t. She’s been stable for you. Which is more than others have offered. You love her. Now here’s what you’re doing wrong. You’re accepting distance as substitute, all that is doing is kill you slowly. It’s turning you to your cycle. It’s a trigger.”

“Really?”

“You’ve accepted distance your whole life, from family, to friends, to one night stands. You have isolated yourself so much that you can’t have this conversation face to face. You need distance it’s how you feel safe. It’s how you protect yourself. What you need is to open up. To really open up. Why do that with me? Why not her? Because if you lose her you can’t have the distance you’ve replaced love with.”

“…Point, you sure you’re not a psychologist?”

“I’m not, I’m a licenced beautician.” There was humor in her voice. “Listen, Anthony–”

“Call me Tony.”

“Tony, I don’t want to be harsh with you, in fact I really want to hug you. If I still did face to faces I would give you my address and a cheap quote. I’d break you down so you could cry and admit that you are venerable, broken, and lovable. Those facts are all okay, you can feel it. I’d help free you. Hell, I’d do it, but I wouldn’t ask that big of step from you. You need to take this a day at a time. Have you thought about doing like groups or something?”

“Can’t, my life doesn’t really allow that kind of thing.”

“Then a doctor might be good for you. You need to get this pain off your chest. It’s smothering you… Hm,” There was this silence that didn’t feel like he needed to fill it. “Are you a music lover?”

“I don’t know if I could do a doctor… And yes. Definitely. Music always.”

“Listen to Thriteenth Step, it’s an A Perfect Circle album, and maybe it would help. It talks about a lot of things. I know there are also some twelve step books maybe pick up one. Or have it delivered to your house. Just work through it with yourself.”

“I didn’t expect this. I’m grateful for it, but I didn’t expect it.” It was weird how honest that felt.

“I’m sure you didn’t. But I’ve had more than one man break down at me because they need it and high powered men don’t think they can. I still want to make you cry.”

“That threat doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“It wouldn’t be but it would help, because that’s what you need. You need to break down, you need to cry, you need to actually feel that pain you’ve been numbing all these years. Because if you don’t you won’t ever be able to take the next steps.”

“Thank you, Dawn.”

“Tony, let me give you my number. You can call me any time. I won’t charge you. I’m a firm believer in harm reduction, and if I’m helping I will continue to. Addiction isn’t a mental problem, it’s a disease. Like the flu, or SARS, or whatever else. You need help and no one thinks to help people like you in the emergency room.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you…”

“If you don’t want I won’t, but I’d like it if you would. If you don’t feel like anyone else but some phone sex operator can help you, I’m going to help you as much as I can.” It wasn’t a lie, maybe she did want to help. Not just fuck him over, or fuck him, or be around him because of his last name. “You still want my advice with your girl?”

“Yes.”

“Tell her that you love her, but you’re broken. If she really does care she won’t care and she’ll help you put the pieces back together. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t deserve you. Because everyone, every living person is worthy of love. Especially the broken, battered and bruised. And hell, if she’s not the one, if you open your eyes you might find them. But judging by what you’ve said about her, she must really care about you to stick around. She wouldn’t have been around this long if she didn’t. No one likes pain or rejection. But you’ll never know if you don’t try and you’ll just circle around all of this until your body can’t handle it anymore.”

“So I should just tell her… I don’t even know how to do that. I’ve only ever dated once before, in college and it, turned out very badly.”

“How close are the two of you?”

“Fairly close, she knows just about everything about me. I don’t know that much about her but she shuts people out.”

“I would do something normal with her and just tell her. Have a conversation… Like: watch a movie, then have the talk after. Explain that you love this, the movie watching and that you want to keep doing it. Continue on by saying you want to take the both of you to the next step. If you want to hold her tell her. If you want to kiss her tell her. Be honest.”

“We’ve, how do I say this.” How did he say that? “We’ve had sex before, but she said after that we shouldn’t have done it. I agreed. I don’t know why I said it. But we’ve do it a couple times, where life is happening then we end up kissing and fucking.”

“It sounds like she is just as scared of commitment as you. So going slow and easing in would be good. Maybe don’t do dating, don’t do boyfriend and girlfriend. That has a lot of stress with it, a mental mold. Pick another word and work up to dating. Define that word between yourselves, it will help you feel a bit more free and less worried about titles. And what those titles do.”

“Like what?”

“Partners? Lovers? Significant other? Friends with benefits… I guess that would work, but you’re after something a bit more committed than that. But offer her a fair deal and be honest. I can’t stress that enough. Tell her your problems and tell her when you relapse. Tell her when you feel close. I can’t promise she’ll do the same, but set up an honest foundation. She’s already seen you at your worst, you trying to get better is going to be worth sticking with.”

“I just say,” He needed a name for her. “Ginny, I care about you and like you a lot, and I want to take this to the next level.” He could feel the harsh tone of disbelief sinking into his voice. “I need you to know I have problems. I’m an alcoholic, a recovered drug addict, a sex addict, and I have PTSD. I promise I’m going to be honest?”

“Change your tone and you’re getting the picture.”

“Seriously? This works?”

“Take it from a woman. If there was someone like you in my life and they told me they had problems I would want them to be honest with me. I’d support them in their recovery. In her case she might need to have you support her as well. She sounds like she’s got some troubled waters.”

“She doesn’t exactly let me in.”

“Is her name Ginny?”

“It’s not what I usually call her, but yes.”

“Ah, trust. See I’m learning more and more about you.” She shifted, or moved because the phone broke up for a moment and Tony could feel hopeless creep into his head. “Sorry about that. She sounds guarded, you might have to push, express wanting to know. Explain to her that you want it to be mutual. She can’t just support you all the time. Be honest, tell her the truth, take off all the masks you’ve worn and let her really see the you that’s under there. Maybe it will inspire her to do the same.”

“I’m going to just have to trust you.” He sighed and set down his drink. He wasn’t sure when he picked it up again. He wasn’t sure if he took a drink. It didn’t look like it, but he couldn’t trust himself at this point.

“Yes, and take my number, call me with updates. Because I’m going to be thinking about this for awhile. And Tony?”

“Yes?”

“How long without a drink?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Congratulations! Now, I’m going to put on my best mistress voice. So you know you have to behave.” She cleared her throat. He couldn’t help the laugh. “Stand up, pour the drink down the sink and put the bottle away. Try to make it 48 hours, then you can have it if you want it, but set little goals. Don’t charge in and think it’s going to be forever. Make it one day at a time.”

“One day at a time. Got it.”

He took her number down. They both said their goodbyes. He plugged it into his phone, and labeled it with the word: Therapist. He looked at the glass on the table, and the bottle beside. He had done such a good job in keeping the demons down. But he could feel another binge coming on.

He stood up and with a heavy swallow and heavier hands he poured the drink into the sink and put the bottle away. He didn’t go to his bed. The sheets would be cold and empty. Instead, he went down to his garage, and had JARVIS pull up the recommended album on Spotify. He listened to it from front to back as he worked on a more efficient flight stabilizer.


End file.
